


reindeer

by memitims



Series: chicago pd [7]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:12:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memitims/pseuds/memitims
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ian's enthusiasm for christmas is unparalleled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	reindeer

Mickey woke up warm, way warmer than he should be on a chilly winter night in his apartment with its shitty-ass heating, but that’s because Ian was a fuckin’ human furnace, his body sprawled completely over Mickey and his breath hot and soothing against Mickey’s neck. Ian loved to wrap himself around Mickey in the middle of the night, his long limbs touching Mickey practically everywhere, and he had pretended to hate it, but Ian wasn’t stupid. He knew Ian felt the way Mickey pulled him closer, the way Mickey breathed in the smell of his hair and his skin and all that other sappy bullshit that became magnified in the soft moments before he drifted off to sleep, when it seemed like nothing else mattered anyways, when his brain was fuzzy and too wrapped up in Ian to care. 

“Mickey,” Ian mumbled into his neck, because he always seemed to sense when Mickey woke up, just so he could start annoying Mickey at the earliest fucking time of day possible, like he had to get a head start or something. Annoying Mickey was Ian’s superpower, and Mickey wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

Mickey sighed. “What?” He got a mouthful of Ian’s hair for his trouble, and it tickled his nose too, but Ian just made a few sleepy noises and rubbed his head against Mickey, completely oblivious to the shenanigans involving his hair and Mickey’s face. 

“It’s December 1st.” He walked his fingers up Mickey’s bare chest, and then began drawing shapes against Mickey’s skin, because he was a giant goofball that actually did shit like that. 

“The fuck does that mean?” Mickey asked, staring down at Ian’s fingers, momentarily fascinated by the way they twisted against his chest. He wanted to bring his own fingers up and tangle them together, wanted to watch the way their hands fit. _Fuck_. He wanted to hold Ian’s hand. It was too early for this shit.

Ian grinned against his collarbone, the edge of his smile pressed into Mickey’s skin. Mickey kinda wanted him to stay like that forever. “I can start decorating the apartment for Christmas.”

“Um,” Mickey said. “No fucking way.”

Ian scoffed. He tilted his head up towards Mickey’s, so he got the full effect of Ian’s thousand-watt smile, and Ian was a little fucker, because he knew exactly how vulnerable that smile made Mickey, how weak at the knees, and how he could never say no, not when Ian was smiling against his skin. “Dude. We gotta decorate for Christmas. Especially if your sister is coming. I don’t want her to think we’re a couple of boring losers that can’t even hang up some holiday lights.”

“No.” Mickey grunted. “First of all, Mandy won’t care. And second of all, we are a couple of boring losers. And Mandy already knows that.”  
“Mickey,” Ian whined. “You don’t even have to do anything. I’ll decorate by myself. Please?”

Mickey thought about it for a second. There really wasn’t any harm in it, not unless Ian did something fucking stupid, like try to decorate the fire escape or use Mickey’s rickety old ladder. And after all, Mickey had never celebrated Christmas with decorations, and he’d never had anything more than a shitty Christmas. He’d usually just celebrate alone, or work through it, or anything really, to get his mind off the horrible affair the holiday had been at his house growing up, the way his father always seemed to get his hands on too much alcohol, and he never seemed to be in the Christmas spirit. 

“Alright, I guess,” Mickey sighed. “But I don’t have any decorations here, so you’re gonna have to figure that shit out.”

“Don’t worry,” Ian laughed. “I’ve got it covered.”

\---

Ian definitely had it covered. Mickey didn’t know where the hell he found all this crap, but before he knew it, his apartment was covered head to toe in garlands, lights, paper snowflakes, and a shitton of tacky reindeer decorations that made Mickey cringe. Ian also seemed to have a never-ending supply of Christmas CD’s to play over the speakers and Mickey was pretty sure he had tinsel coming out of his ears. 

Mickey stood in the middle of it all, stubbornly refusing to help, drinking in the way Ian smiled like a dork every time he accomplished something. He didn’t care if his apartment looked like the holiday aisle of Walmart exploded in there, as long as Ian kept grinning at him. _Christ_. 

“Wow,” Mickey said, as Ian hung up a gaudy red and green banner on the wall. “That’s interesting.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “It’s festive. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“Oh, I understand that it’s so ugly, it’s probably gonna burn my fucking eyes outta my head.” 

Ian ignored him and continued to hum along under his breath to whatever goddawful song was playing over the stereo, and Mickey leaned his head back against the wall, exasperated. His eyes caught on one of the reindeer and he shook his head. 

“I don’t know how we’re supposed to sleep, let alone fuck, with those creepy-ass reindeer eyes starting at us the whole time.”

“Oh my god,” Ian said. “You are actually the Grinch.”

Mickey crossed his arms over his chest. “Fuck you. You’re the Grinch,” he said lamely, and Ian smiled at his botched attempt at a comeback. He finished hanging the banner and stepped back to admire his handiwork, before walking backwards and joining Mickey against the wall. He slung an arm around Mickey’s shoulders and pressed a small kiss into Mickey’s hair, the kind that made Mickey’s stupid little heart melt, or maybe just grow three sizes bigger. 

“It’s okay,” Ian muttered into his hair. “I have plenty of holiday spirit for the both of us.”

“Does holiday spirit extend to making cookies for dinner?” Mickey asked hopefully, because Ian always made them eat something disgustingly healthy when he could and he was sick of vegetables. 

Ian laughed. “No, dumbass. There are some lines that just cannot be crossed.”

\---

So, Mickey dealt with the decorations and tried to ignore the creepy reindeer, and Ian dragged him to do stupid holiday things on the weekends, like listen to Christmas carols and chop down a tree and decorate sugar cookies at the Gallagher house with Debbie. Mickey groaned and whined and complained his way through it, but the look on Ian’s face at the end of the day made everything worth it. 

“Mickey,” Ian grunted into his neck, as he fucked him nice and slow, the way they had time for on the weekends, and Mickey made a small noise in return, because words were so not happening right now. “Mickey, we should decorate the tree tomorrow,” he said, with another thrust that felt so fucking good that Mickey really had to focus hard on the words coming out of Ian’s mouth. 

“The fuck, Ian?” Mickey groaned, twisting his hips in slow, rhythmic, circles that made him see fuckin’ stars. “Your dick is in my ass and you’re talking about decorating the goddamn Christmas tree?”

(Which, okay, wasn’t as bad as the time Ian started talking about a case they were working on while Mickey was riding him. His palms were pressed hard against Ian’s chest and he was fucking down on his dick, but all Ian could think about was whether the neighbor they had interviewed had seemed suspicious. That was, until, Mickey had grabbed Ian’s face and kissed him as hard as he could, until he forgot everything except the feeling of Mickey twisting around his cock and the way their mouths moved together.)

“Mhmm,” Ian panted into his neck. “‘S important,” he slurred, and he was thrusting harder and deeper but the rhythm was going to hell, his noises louder and less coherent, he was falling apart over Mickey’s body, and Mickey just watched helplessly, pressing kisses into Ian’s sweaty skin wherever he could reach. 

“Oh god,” Mickey moaned, “Ian,” and the Christmas tree was forgotten for a moment as Ian finished Mickey off with the expert curl of his hand, and he came a few moments later, thrusting hard and deep into Mickey’s body in a way that set him on fire. He gasped and writhed on top of Mickey, breathless, his head thrown back, and Mickey was totally screwed. Ian’s eyes were closed and it was the hottest thing Mickey had ever seen, and then he collapsed gently across Mickey’s body. Mickey tried to catch his breath and his heart was pounding, it was always pounding, always pounding for Ian, always had been. Mickey couldn’t remember when it hadn’t. 

Ian finally rolled off of him, but he kept their legs tangled, and they lay against the pillows, facing each other. He brought a hand up and ran it through Mickey’s hair, pulling the strands free until they waved in front of Mickey’s face. Ian always got looser with his affections after sex, even looser than normal, his fingers roaming all over Mickey’s body like he couldn’t get enough. Some of it must have rubbed off on Mickey, too, because he found himself softly tracing the jut of Ian’s hip, the knobs of his spine, the planes of his chest. 

“I was serious,” Ian started. “About the tree.”

Mickey huffed out a laugh, and it came out weakly because his voice was torn to shreds, his throat raw. “Oh my fucking god. We can decorate the tree tomorrow.”

Ian made a little noise, the kind that Mickey wanted to bottle up and keep forever, and nestled closer to Mickey’s body, nuzzling his face into Mickey’s neck. “Awesome,” he said quietly, against Mickey’s skin, and Mickey smiled into Ian’s hair. 

\---

Mandy arrived the Friday before Christmas, and she looked appropriately horrified when she stepped into the apartment.

“What the fuck happened?” she asked, eying the hoards of reindeer suspiciously. 

“Ian happened,” Mickey said grumpily, pulling his sister into a quick hug. “He really likes Christmas.”

Ian sighed from behind him. “Oh please, Mickey. They’ve totally grown on you. Don’t deny it.”

Mandy laughed. “It’s good. This boring old place needed a little spicing up.” She looked over Mickey’s shoulder at Ian, holding out her hand towards him. “So. You must be Ian.”

He nodded and shook Mandy’s hand, which was weird, because Mickey had never seen his sister shake anyone’s hand. She usually wasn’t very good at first impressions, too many glares and biting remarks, and the same probably could be said for Mickey, but that’s just how it was. Mickey and Mandy, two peas in the same fuckin’ pod. 

Ian grinned at her. She raised her eyebrows and blinked at him a few times, obviously taken off guard by the amount of pure sunshine Ian could pump into one of his smiles, and Mickey laughed. It kinda took some getting used to. “And you must be Mandy. Nice to meet you.”

She quirked her lips up in the corner, the closest to a smile Ian was probably gonna get for right now, and Mickey ushered them both into the kitchen. Ian convinced her to go look at the tree with him, so Mickey got them a couple glasses of water, before joining them in the small living room. 

The ceiling wasn’t very high, so they’d had to settle on a smaller tree, even though Ian only seemed interested in the giant monster firs, but then Mickey reminded him that the tree would look pretty shitty if they had to cut off half of it to fit in the living room, so he found one that would work. They hadn’t spent very long decorating it, work at the precinct had been especially busy this week, but Mickey had stretched a strand of multi-colored lights around the needles and Ian had stolen a fair amount of ornaments from his family to finish it off. Apparently, the Gallaghers had collected to many over the years that they wouldn’t notice those ones missing. 

Ian and Mandy seemed to hit it off pretty quickly, bonding over their mutual love for trashy pop songs and driving Mickey crazy, and it made his chest hurt a little bit, watching Ian make his sister laugh, the way she hardly ever did, her teeth showing and her head thrown back. He figured Ian was a little bit magic, he had found the secret fucking formula to making the youngest Milkoviches smile, in a way Mickey never thought they’d be able to, not since they were kids and Mickey had watched the hope slowly drain out of Mandy’s eyes. 

“Alright,” Mickey said, rubbing his hands together. “I have to go find some presents at the mall. You two nerds stay here and keep talking about Justin Timberlake.”

“Presents for what?” Mandy asked, innocently. 

Mickey waved a hand around the living room. “Christmas, asshole. Didn’t you know it’s coming up soon?”

Ian laughed into his shoulder.   
\---

Mandy cornered him in the kitchen the next night while Ian was watching TV in the other room. 

“I like Ian,” she whispered, like Mickey couldn’t already tell. “He’s not as weird as you described over the phone.”

“Uh,” Mickey said, “That’s because you’re just as weird as he is. You can’t fucking see it.”

Mandy grinned at him. “You’re also totally gone on him. I mean, I thought I’d figured that out by the way you talk about him, but you’re even worse in person. Can’t keep your fucking eyes off him for like two seconds. He’s pretty bad too, though.” She rubbed a hand over her chin. “With the way he talks about his family, I can’t believe you got him to move outta there. He must like you a lot.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mickey hissed. And then, quietly, “You really think so?”

She thwacked him on the head with a dish towel. “I know so. I just feel bad for that poor intern. She has to work with you two lovesick idiots.”

Mickey laughed. “I think Karen can handle herself.”

Mandy shrugged. “Alright, man. But he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon or some shit, it’s disgusting.”

“Fuck off.” Mickey gestured towards the door, pretending that Mandy’s comments hadn’t streaked towards his fucking heart, because Mickey doubted himself a lot, but everything meant a little bit more when it came to Ian. “He’s gonna be wondering where we are and I really want to see the end of this episode. C’mon.”

Mickey followed her into the living room and he squished onto the couch next to Ian, and he thought about what Mandy said. He wasn’t sure if he totally believed her, not until he had the evidence in front of his face.

(And so, on Christmas morning, when the three of them set about opening their small scattering of presents, Mickey watched Ian out of the corner of his eye, watched the way his eyes slid over to Mickey ever so often, the way he smiled at Mickey when he thought he wasn’t looking, and Mickey knew he was in deep shit. Mickey watched Ian and Mickey knew he was in love, and he didn’t want to think about what that meant.)


End file.
